


I'm Coming Home

by bluester007



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Lance and Keith are engaged in this so, Lance homecoming, M/M, Reunion, also, basically the whole "look i'm actually not dead" moment, because the rest weren't home, but I got lazy and only did like half his family, but also a little not, but it's happy angst?, it's late and I can barely see my computer screen rn so, it's not specified but it's a little implied, little angsty, not edited at all, so I lied about it being only a little angsty, sorta post-galra war, this is very shit because i'm running on very little sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 09:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10682067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluester007/pseuds/bluester007
Summary: Basically Lance showing up at his parents' doorstep (with a weirdo mullet kid behind him) saying "hey, guess what? Not dead!"





	I'm Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is not edited. Like at all. My eyes are dead right now. I looked at the clock five minutes ago and it was 10:15pm. It is now 00:11am and I don't know where that two hours went so I'm kinda? freaking?  
> According to Lance's wikia page, he's from Cuba. I'd assume that his family speaks spanish (if I'm not mistaken?), but I do not speak spanish and google translate is shit. Also, most people who are reading in english probably don't speak spanish either, so there'd be no point in me fucking up another language. So you can assume that when Lance is talking to his family they are speaking spanish. I also have no idea what North & South America relations are like (I'm Australia - yeeeah straya) but I don't mention anything about that in here anyway. But just. If I do say something wrong? Or like something offends someone? Please let me know because I am an Ignorant Australian.  
> But anyway, I have four essays due within the next two weeks that I have yet to start, because I'm a piece of shit and also Depression Slump (I have a 1500 philosophy essay, a 2000 research paper, a 2500 international relations theory essay that's worth 50% of my unit mark, and a 2000 word US policy essay (I'm not from the US so that's fun) and I have not written anything at all. But I just wrote this 3000 word fucking fanfiction so. That's where my life is right now).  
> I also have another story that I'm pretty sure I said I'd update within a week and that was a few months ago (I think February) so. No, I haven't forgotten, I just have no idea what I'm doing with my life.  
> Also, I'm thinking of changing one of my majors to english & creative writing, and I should only need to add another semester to my study to do that (because I've already done some of the compulsory units for it as an elective) so. That's fun. Also means half a year longer to put off post-uni life. (I like how I decide these things when I'm already half way through like. And I'm literally planning to switch from a security & ct major to creative writing (philosophy is my other major, in case you were wondering) and that's a pretty drastic difference). Thank you for indulging that little Stress Unload.

Lance feels like he’s going to puke.

He’s spent the last seven years of his miserable life fighting furry purple alien koalas hell-bent on universe-wide domination with a flying, magical, telepathic space-lion-ship that’s one of five parts of a giant robot-man weapon, living in a castle ship hurtling through space, protecting the universe from enslavement and saving whole civilisations. But _this_.

Lance has never been more nervous in his life. It feels like his insides switched places with a flock of carnivorous birds and hid away in the Castle orbiting the planet somewhere above. Lance almost wishes he were there, too, but-

Well, this is what he’s been fighting for, isn’t it?

“Hey.” Keith grips his shoulder behind him, and Lance realises he’s come to a stop on the sidewalk. Tension coils tightly under his skin, and Keith must feel it, too, because he starts kneading his thumbs in the base of Lance’s neck. He sighs, relaxing his shoulders into Keith’s touch.

“What if I’m too different?” Lance asks quietly. It’s been bothering him for weeks now, how much time has passed, how much things have changed. He has no idea what he’s walking into, what lives he missed come into shape. He’s terrified that he’ll get there and he won’t recognise the world he left behind, that grew on without him filling the empty corners. Sometimes he doesn’t even recognise himself; how can he expect they haven’t changed, too?

“Lance,” Keith says softly, pulling him around, “come on, look at me.” He reaches up and holds Lance’s face in his hands, stroking his thumbs back and forth along his cheekbones in a familiar, calming rhythm. “Of course you’re different, Lance, we all are. But you know what’s not?”

Lance shakes his head under Keith’s hands.

“This,” Keith says, and pokes Lance in the chest, right over his heart, before pressing his palm over it’s beat. “Who you are, here. You were born Lance McLain. Your mother and father, your brothers and sisters, your whole family – they’re still those people to you. They may be a little different, a little older. Maybe they’ll look so different you can’t tell who’s who. But that doesn’t change that they’re your family. Hey.” Lance didn’t realise he was crying until Keith wiped the tears from under his eyes. “You’ve been gone seven years. You don’t think they haven’t missed you like crazy? They’re going to be so happy to see you, Lance, trust me.”

Lance nods shakily, feeling a swell of gratitude and adoration fill his throat until he can hardly breathe through it, and he has to bury his face in Keith’s neck. He doesn’t know how he’d still be here, breathing, _alive_ in every sense of the word, if it hadn’t been for Keith, and that, more than anything, brings a flare of determination to his chest. He wants his family to meet the man who kept him whole and sane on this outrageous journey of theirs across the universe. He wants them to see the reason he wakes up in the morning, see this incredible human being – well, _part_ human being – incredible _man_ -being – who enriches the lives of all those around him, even if he can’t always see it. He wants to show off his partner, on the battlefield and in his heart, to the people who have always had his back – until the day he was unceremoniously kidnapped by a flying blue lion and conscripted to fight a war that’d been raging for ten thousand years, of course.

He pulls himself up and out of Keith’s embrace, wiping his palms over his face and swiping a hand through his hair to flatten it.

“Okay,” he says, nodding once.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, and presses a quick kiss to Keith’s lips.

It’s only a short walk the rest of the way through the town, and Lance has to keep his gaze from wandering, less he finds himself distracted by memories of his childhood, of home, of comfort and joy. He’s got a mission, an objective. He needs to keep his head clear, his eyes forward, and his feet moving. It feels like a blink of an eye, and then he’s standing at an old, wooden gate, staring up the path to his childhood home, the home of the family he hasn’t seen in almost a decade, the family who thinks he’s dead. He’s suddenly flooded with a surge of emotions, and he has to pause, resting a hand on the low gate. The rough, splintered wood digs into his palm, and he takes a moment to ground himself in the pain.

He breathes. Counts in, two, three. Out, two three.

“Okay,” he says again. He reaches behind him and grips Keith’s hand. “Okay.”

The gate creaks when it swings open, and Lance remembers his mother scolding his father, flicking him with a tea towel, reminding him to oil the gate “sometime this year, how many times must I ask?” He smiles.

He knocks on the door the moment he’s near it, before he can hesitate and talk himself into another panic. Keith squeezes his hand once, tight, and lifts it to graze his lips over knuckles. He lets go, and Lance steels himself, sucking in a breath, and the lock rattles, turns, the door opens and-

His mamá looks exactly as he remembers. A little more grey, a few more wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, but she’s the same warm, beautiful woman, with the same long curls bouncing around her head, and the same sparkling eyes.

She blinks at him, and stares. She blinks again.

“Lance?” she whispers, her voice so small and broken, and Lance never wants to hear that sound from her ever again. His heart cinches in his throat and suddenly he’s crying, trembling, hands shaking as he lifts them up to her.

“Mamá,” he sobs, and she’s pulling him into a crushing embrace. She’s so warm and soft, just like he remembers, and he breathes her in, the smell of her hair and skin, like flowers basking in the afternoon sun, and _god_ he’s missed this more than he can comprehend. Just being in his mother’s arms, wrapped up in her comfort and love. It’s like something clicks into place inside him, like this piece had been missing all along and, _oh_ , that’s what that feeling had been, that soul-sucking, gut-wrenching hole in his gut.

“My boy,” she cries into his hair, and he grips on tighter. “My baby boy. We thought we’d lost you.”

“I’m sorry, Mamá. I’m so sorry. I wanted to come home so bad.” The words are wet, choked, tears logged in his throat.

She pulls back, taking his face in her hands. Her cheeks are streaked with tears, smeared around her eyes, and it’s a _mess_ , but if she’s not the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

“My baby,” she whispers, kissing his forehead, and he grips her hands, “look how big you are.”

“I’m so sorry, Mamá, I promise I’ll tell you everything,” he swears.

“You’re _alive_ ,” she breathes.

He sobs again, tightening his grip.

“Mamá, who’s at the door?”

The voice slams him in the gut; it’s so _familiar_ , but it’s so very, very strange. He looks up over his Mamá’s head and, _fuck_ , that’s his brother. It’s his big brother. And he’s an _adult_ , with broad shoulder and a stubbly beard, wearing a button-up shirt instead of those stupid novelty t-shirts he would never take off. Lance swallows a lump, meeting his brother’s eyes.

“Jaime,” he rasps, and then he’s being pulled into a bony hug – because even after all this time, his brother is still a lanky twig, all sharp corners and bumps, but it’s _amazing_.

* * *

He finds himself seated at the little table in the kitchen that has one leg propped up with a phone book – the one he and Jaime had let a stray dog chew through, back when they were both kids. The memory feels worlds away now, even when he’s the closest to it he’s been in seven years. Keith is next to him, facing his Mamá, while his brother bangs around making coffee. His younger brother and sister are at school, his dad at work, and his older sister lives in the US now, his Mamá tells him. There’s a charge in the air, a tense weight that he’s never felt before with his family, and it scares the shit out of him because _what if it never goes away_. Keith, the mind reader, squeezes his knee under the table, and Lance flashes him a small smile.

“Keith,” his Mamá says slowly, like she’s drawing out the name. “You wouldn’t happen to be the same annoying Keith I used to hear all about? The fighter pilot?”

Keith snorts. “That’d be the one.”

“What!?” Lance shrieks. “That’s _so_ not true.”

His Mamá raises one eyebrow – it’s _terrifying_ how she can do that, Lance thinks.

“I’m pretty sure it is,” Jaime says, setting four mugs on the table. “You used to complain about this Keith guy all the time.”

Keith turns a smirk at him. “Did you now?”

“Shut up, mullet head.”

“I don’t have a mullet.”

“You’re still a mullet head.”

Keith rolls his eyes, and Lance is an adult, okay, and a seasoned war veteran, but he pokes his tongue anyway because he can.

His Mamá is smiling, a wet, watery thing, when he looks back at her, and he reaches out and takes her hand. Beside her, Jaime has his hands over his mouth, tears crawling down his cheeks, and Lance feels his own eyes prick.

“Come on, guys,” he says, voice shaking. “Quit making me cry.”

“We thought you were dead, Lance,” Jaime says simply, and, well, Lance thinks that fairly reasonable.

Lance hunches his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to think that, but I had no way to tell you I was okay. I didn’t exactly have cell reception.”

“Where’ve you been, baby?” Mamá asks, squeezing his hand.

He sighs, glancing at Keith. “You probably not going to believe me.”

“Try.”

He frowns down at the table for a moment. There’s a pressure on his thigh, and Lance realises he’s been bouncing his leg, Keith’s hand halting the movement.

“It’s a long story,” he says at last. “Maybe we should wait until papá is home.”

“I texted him. He should be here soon,” Jaime says, and Lance startles at that.

He turns to Keith. “Texting,” he says, his mouth forming oddly around the word. Lance hasn’t had a phone to text with since he was at the Garrison.

Keith huffs a laugh. “Texting.”

Mamá and Jaime are giving them odd looks, but Lance just smiles.

“Haven’t had a phone in a while,” he explains. If anything, they look more confused.

Lance picks up his drink and doesn’t think before he takes a sip and-

“Holy quiznak,” he sighs, curling his hands around the mug. “ _Sweet coffee, I missed you_.”

“You two want a room?” Keith asks, and Lance pulls a face at him.

“If you don’t respect the coffee, you don’t deserve to drink it,” he says, pulling Keith’s mug towards himself across the table. “Ask Hunk, he’ll tell you.”

“I’m sure.”

Lance is interrupted from replying by the front door slamming open and footsteps thundering into the house.  
“Jaime! Is everything okay? What’s happened?”

A man stumbles into the kitchen, and Lance is on his feet in an instant, breath catching in his throat.

“Papá!”

His Papá freezes, eyes wide, mouth agape. It’s only a moment, though, and then he’s being crushed all over again. There are more tears, more sobbing and shaking, and his Mamá and brother are hugging him, too, while Keith sits silently at the table, smiling into his coffee.

* * *

 

They’re in the living room, and it’s exactly as Lance remembers it. Well, mostly. There are a few new pictures on the wall, and the lamp in the corner has finally been replaced, but mostly, it’s just as it was when he left it. He lets the familiar wash over him, drawing strength from the comfort, from the memories, the laughter and tears, as he tries to explain to his family what he’s been doing for the seven years they thought he was dead. Either they’ll think he’s lying, crazy, both, or – possibly worst of all – they’ll believe him. They’ll believe they’ve been living under the threat of invasion from a totalitarian alien empire, and that he’s been fighting them, in space, with a rag-tag team of five unlikely warriors from Earth, two aliens who _aren’t_ trying to take over the universe, psychic mice, and a magic robot lion-man weapon. They’ll believe Lance has spent the last seven years fighting for his life and the fate of the universe, and they’ll be terrified.

He says, “I know this is hard to believe, okay? It sounds crazy. It _is_ crazy. But I’m telling you the truth.”

He looks his family in the eye, his mamá and papá and big brother, pleading with them to understand, to _believe_ , even if part of him doesn’t want them to. He doesn’t want them to have any concept of the things he’s seen, the things he’s had to do to survive, the things that’ve been done _to_ him. He wants them to live in ignorance and peace and safety – hell, he could go for a little of that himself.

Lance doesn’t know what else to say. He’s told his story – the cliff-notes version, leaving out most of the details (they don’t need to know what keeps him up at night). He doesn’t know how else he can convince them.

Keith nudges him with an elbow. “Bayard.”

_How does he do that?_

“Oh!”

He fumbles to get the Bayard unclipped from his belt loop – Pidge had figured out a way to make them travel-sized if they needed, and it had definitely come in handy over the years. He presses the button the switch it back to normal, and stands, holding it ready before his family.

“This is a magic alien weapon thing, I guess,” he explains. “It turns into whatever best suits your fighting style. Pretty cool, really.” He activates his Bayard, watching it flash and turn into a familiar blue rifle, aiming it down and away from everyone – gun safety 101.

His parents stare at him in horror, and for a moment Lance wants to flinch away from their gazes. Then he realises they’re not afraid of _him_. They’re watching the way he holds the gun with practiced ease, balancing the weight between his hands and holding his shoulders and arms steady. They see that he knows how to use it, _has_ used it countless times before, and they’re terrified because they never wanted their son to have to live through any kind of horror, let alone an intergalactic war.

He sighs, and turns the Bayard back into its idle form, clipping it to his jeans.

“Please stop looking at me like that,” he says softly, looking off to the side.

He hears a sharp intake of breath and a choked off sob, but he doesn’t look as he sits back down, pressing into Keith’s side, taking his hand and gripping tight like it’s a lifeline.

“Look,” he says, “I get this is a lot to take in, and it’s probably not a story you want to be hearing, but…” he shrugs, jostling Keith’s shoulder. “It’s the one I’ve got.”

“Lance.”

He looks up at his brother, who smiles – tightly, but it reaches his eyes.

“Lance, we love you, okay? It’s just a lot to process.”

“We missed you, kid,” his papá says, “so much. And we’re so glad you’re _alive-_ ” he breaks off, covering his mouth. Mamá wraps her arm around papá’s waist, crying silently into his side, and Lance wishes more than anything that he had something _good_ to tell them, something to stop them from feeling so much pain. He wants them to stop crying, to stop looking like their hearts are breaking. It’s a horrible thing to watch, his family, the people who’ve been his foundation for most of his life, who helped him grow up and learn to be kind – to watch them wage between being so _relieved_ he’s alive, like a weight’s lifted from their hearts, and being so _horrified_ that he’s had to live through so much hate and fear. He just wants them to be safe – that’s what he’s been fighting for.

He feels the weight and warmth of Keith’s body next to his, and it’s like a spark shoots through him, a _ding ding ding_ tolling in his head.

“How about some happy news!” he says, clapping his hands – and Keith’s, still tangled in his – together.

Jaime, eyes red, looks more than happy to cling to a distraction – he, like Lance, has always hated awkward emotions. His parents, on the other hand, have always been very open with their feelings, but they turn to him expectantly, wiping their eyes.

“So,” Lance says, “you know Keith here-” he lifts their joined hands and waves them about – Keith gives him a Look “-obviously. But what you don’t know is that we’re engaged! Wooo!”

Keith snorts, but presses himself more fully into Lance, and Lance _beams_ at him.

There’s a moment where everything’s still, as though all the matter bouncing around in the air has been shocked into silence. Then they’re being pulled onto their feet and-

Well, there’s a lot more hugging, and tears, and Lance wonders if this is what his life is going to be like from now on.

**Author's Note:**

> So I had an idea for like. A scene with Lance's younger siblings? And I kinda pictured them quite young when he left, so they probably wouldn't know him very well. And I had a hella angsty scene planned. But then I realised it's late and I need to actually try to sleep (because I have been incapable lately) and I have uni work that I should really focus on instead -- hence why this is so shitty and has not been reviewed. Think of this as the first draft. I figured I'd try to work on it more instead of doing what I actually NEED to do if I didn't publish it, so.  
> But. Ages of siblings. (I sorta made my own assumptions based on the picture from Lance's mind? I'm thinking 2 brothers & 2 sisters). First number = age when Lance was at the Garrison. Second number = current age in story:  
> Older brother (Jaime, featured in this fic): 21 --> 28  
> Older sister (the one in the US): 19 --> 26  
> Younger brother: 6 --> 13  
> Younger sister: 5 --> 12  
> Lance (and Keith): 17 --> 24
> 
> Also, I'm assumung that Jaime happened to be visiting his mama at this convenient moment in time.
> 
> Anway, if you wanna scream about shit I've got a tumblr (bluester007) that's basically a shitstorm, who-knows-what-you'll-get fandom side blog, or my main one (morganaleefay). Come chat with me. I like to chat. (Disclaimer: is socially awkward)


End file.
